


sephiroth's "puppy"

by devilfic



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Crisis Core Era (Compilation of FFVII), F/M, M/M, Other, Rivals, Some Humor, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Unresolved Tension, everyone is alive and sane here pretty much, maybe? - Freeform, platonic if you want, reader is an ex-turk turned soldier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:27:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26167120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devilfic/pseuds/devilfic
Summary: you’re like a puppy, the way you nip at his heels, claiming you’ll best him one day. until then, he’ll happily have a go at playing with you.
Relationships: Sephiroth/Reader, Sephiroth/You
Comments: 9
Kudos: 109





	sephiroth's "puppy"

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first sephiroth fic so please. go easy on me. I just think he's really hot and I'd like to fight him

You can’t go down like this. Not when you’ve gotten this close.

Your ears ring upon making impact with the floor mat, thin cushioning doing nothing to soften the blow _he’s_ dealt you. There’s nothing to breathe, or at least it feels that way with your lungs empty, but you use whatever else is in you (spite, perhaps) to heave yourself out of Sephiroth’s line of attack before it’s too late. You only manage to roll over onto all fours when his blade connects with the mat you’d been laying on, dragging back with an audible _rip!_ in the pressuring silence. That could’ve been you.

“That could’ve been you,” Sephiroth echoes the obvious, leisurely as ever and looming over your pitiable form, “a blessing that these mats are vinyl. Easy to wash 2nd class blood off of.”

You look over your shoulder at him with the most irritation you can manage, assuming a standing, fighting stance once more. Your sword is halfway across the room but you feel like your sheer anger would see you through knocking him out cold, bare fists and all, “You 1st class pricks talk tough shit, but it’s all bark.”

Sephiroth grins, then bites.

He was always a very quick fighter, and given the lightness of his Masamune, he and it sliced through the freezing air like butter. That was always one of his strongest abilities and one of your most persistent downfalls in sparring; he’d often offered to “slow it down” for you just to give you a fighting chance, but all that did was piss you off.

Regardless, he was never at 100% with you, rarely breaking even 70% on a good day. Of course, given the nature of your fights and your existence as colleagues outside of them, he was not particularly eager to end your life the way he very well could. You were nowhere near an equal sparring partner by any means, and you highly doubted he got anything else out of your fights other than a few laughs at your expense. You’d joked that he stuck around for your sparkling personality, but he was very quick to dismiss that.

Your defensive reflexes are just barely efficient, but you’re happy to say that even in your deteriorating state, you move out of the way in time to dodge him. All you know is that you’ve got to get to your sword if you want even a sliver of a chance in putting up a worthwhile fight, and that Sephiroth will do everything in his power to cut you down before you do.

Taking extra care to watch him, you focus all your energy on staying upright, huffing and puffing. 

He finds it quite cute. “I was unaware that you were such a glutton for punishment. You’re really starting to look pitiful, swaying like that.”

You growl, “If you’ve got time to run your mouth, you must have time to swing that damn sword!”

“I have time to ‘run my mouth’ because this fight is already over.” To punctuate his statement, Sephiroth twirls the nodachi with expert ease, nonchalant as he approaches you.

The truth of the matter is that you _are_ a glutton for punishment. No matter how many times Sephiroth handed you your ass while eviscerating your pride, you always came back for more. Perhaps it was the fact that he bothered to entertain you at all; you did take great pleasure in knowing that you were one of the few people Sephiroth could never quite turn down for a quick spar, but perhaps it was also because... you were getting better.

True, Sephiroth often left you winded, wounded, and wallowing, but the pain lasted for barely a day before you were back on your feet, just a little bit stronger than last time. Even if he refused to admit it, “Just say you’re actually having to pull your weight for once in your life and it excites you.” You’re all roguish glee when you see the SOLDIER’s lip twitch.

“Over _you_? Don’t make me laugh.” And then he strikes again, this time actually landing a solid hit. You hiss as you feel the skin on your upper thigh split, but you know he could’ve done way worse if he pleased. You roll to the side to get away from him and that much closer to your weapon as his eyes trail after you, lazy, “You’ve only succeeded in making me pity you. This seems like an awful lot of grief for a pipe dream.”

You ignore the slight sting in his words and the major sting in your leg to focus on how quickly you could retrieve your sword before he was upon you, “Is moving up to 1st so far-fetched?”

Sephiroth plants the sharp end of his sword into the floor, staring you down, unmoving, “No, rather the declaration that you will somehow come close to my echelon.”

“You can’t be number one forever. Someone’s gotta dethrone your ass,” you chuckle, “and if it’s not Zack, you can bet it’ll be me.”

“You both are practically puppies. _You_ haven’t even grown into your claws yet.” This time, you’re practically overjoyed at the sliver of annoyance you detect in his voice. 

“I think,” you know your window of opportunity is slipping as you slowly shuffle backwards, backing into a corner, “you ought to worry less about me and more about yourself in the next ten seconds.” And so your window is racing to a close.

You twist around and sprint, limbs thrumming in agony from hours of fighting. You see your sword and you can hear Sephiroth’s light steps behind you growing ever closer. You drop down the minute you get close enough and grab the hilt of your sword, ready to rise back to full height and give Sephiroth a serious thrashing, when the SOLDIER closes you into the corner.

His blade and yours meet in a cross and it takes everything in you not to drop down in a puddle of defeat, but the fact that you’ve managed to stop his attack is already enough of a win to keep you grinning and panting all the same. 

Sephiroth is so incredibly close. His expression is taut in observation, seemingly probing you for unspoken tells that would give your weakness away. Wisps of his hair float toward your face from the momentum and brush along your sweaty cheeks almost lovingly, soft at the touch compared to the one that possessed them. Not many people got to be this close to him, let alone spar with him damn near every other day for “fun”. You were sure the fan clubs would go wild if you could describe every single shade present in his eyes right now. 

“Well? What was I meant to be worrying about?” His tone is taunting, but the mischief doesn’t reach his eyes. The coldness of his gaze should be enough to scare you straight into submission as it did everyone else. It’s meant to. A test of your will.

Instead, you only laugh. “I really hurt your feelings back there, huh?”

Your blade squeals and slips, but Sephiroth is quick to reel back before you get cut again. Your body succumbs to a slump the moment Sephiroth leaves your breathing space because you both know that it’s over, that you’ve lost, but you don’t feel bad about it at all. You were just that little bit stronger. Had this been months ago, you might’ve dropped dead half an hour ago and Sephiroth was aware of that fact.

“You hurt nothing but yourself. I couldn’t care less if one of you ends up as Shinra’s new plaything, but I’ll be damned if I’m shone up by a child and an ex-Turk.” You hear his voice grow further away from you, moving through the vast expanse of the training area. By the time he comes back, you see a glowing green drink before you and greedily take hold of it, chugging down the contents as your body’s aches begin to subside. You could already feel the cut on your thigh sealing up.

You mutter a “thank you” as you push yourself to stand, that same giddiness from before not faded. “You gotta admit, I’m getting better.”

You’re surprised at his prompt approval, “I think I might have actually broken one _singular_ drop of sweat today, puppy.”

The nickname gives you pause, though Sephiroth’s trademark unreadable expression refuses to waver. Most of the time, Sephiroth would refer to you, if not by name, with things like “2nd Class”, “punk”, “brat”, and the list went on and on. Puppy... well, that was new. “P-Puppy? Doesn’t Angeal call Zack that, though?”

His eyes narrow, “I told you, you’re _both_ puppies. You just happen to be... _my_ puppy. Nipping at my heels, causing problems wherever you step. It’s rather fitting for you.”

You’re not totally sure what to say to that at first. If you removed the image of Sephiroth being the one calling you his puppy from your mind, you might’ve actually seen it as something cute, perhaps even _affectionate_. Zack was a puppy, lovable and carefree. Calling Zack a puppy was sweet. Sephiroth calling _you_ a puppy felt mocking, if not subtly degrading. The only thing about that was that you couldn’t find yourself totally disliking the ring of it either. “What will it sound like to the others once they hear that you think of me that way?”

“...you say it as if it’s something I should be embarrassed about.”

You _had_ said it as if it was something to be embarrassed about. However, Sephiroth always spoke with such authority that even things you were wholeheartedly certain about could be turned on their head just by hearing his displeased tone. Despite how staggering the nickname was to be called (and by someone like the top 1st class SOLDIER no less), his unbothered look made you feel as if _you_ were the crazy one for thinking it so.

You’d probably hit your head one too many times today, anyway. You wouldn’t think too much on it for the time being. “...fine: puppy it is. I plan to grow out of it one day, though. Don’t get used to it.”

And again, to your utter surprise, Sephiroth cracks a smile, “Then you’d better sharpen those claws of yours before I do.”


End file.
